Everything Has Changed
by the Marysue Murderess
Summary: Growing apart doesn't change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I'm glad for that.


**Chapter One: And so the Past Comes Back to Bite**

"We met each other when we were young, before we knew enough about disappointment, and once we did we found we reminded each other of it."  
― Nicole Krauss, _The History of Love_

**...**

_Teikō Junior High, August 14th, Friday- [This is How We Said Goodbye]_

Midorima Shintarō examined his test papers with a critical eye, searching out and and every visible imperfection until he was absolutely certain that his papers held only the finest of quality answers and harbored no errors or mistakes. Midorima had a bad habit of accidentally smearing the ink from his pen across the paper before it was dry, which often resulted in soiled test papers and a disgruntled Midorima. He would accept nothing less than the best from everyone he dealt with, himself included. Producing anything less than immaculate work was a disgrace.

Midorima cracked his knuckes and leant back in his seat, thoroughly satisfied with his six page report on the fall of the Ming Dynasty. He then flipped his papers over, leaving them facedown on the tabletop, and to the side to seek out his desk partner, Kanbara Hitomi. She usually finished a little before he did, largely because she wrote faster and hardly cared about the multitude of mistakes she made. Midorima didn't exactly _like _the girl per se, but she was far more interesting than glaring at the floor for the next half hour. They both hated exams with a passion- Hitomi especially- and he just _knew _that the girl would have something funny to say that would distract them both from the heavy burdens exams had placed upon them.

Not that he'd laugh, of course. She wasn't even _that _funny.

Sure enough, as soon as Midorima glanced her way, Hitomi looked up from her sloppily written paper and winked at him, blue eyes glinting mischievously. She pressed a finger to her lips and gestured to the clock whilst simultaneously rolling her eyes. _We have to wait, _Hitomi seemed to insist, _but just three more minutes!_

Their teacher ghosted past, ruler in hand, and gave them both dirty looks. Hitomi snorted, covering her mouth with one hand and gripping her desk with the other in an attempt to keep herself from laughing out loud. Midorima simply rolled his eyes and returned to his report, which was what he should have been focusing on in the first place. If he was ever going to become a doctor, he needed to study his hardest and make only the best grades. Midorima did not have time for childish, goofy seat mates with sparkling eyes, no matter how amusing they might have been. Midorima strove for only the best and, as a result, achieved only the best. Hitomi was too childish and unintelligent for someone like him, all things considered. Hitomi was the type to play pranks on her teachers and disrespect her elders with snarky remarks. She was hardly a well behaved young lady, unlike Midorima, who believed himself to be the perfect gentleman.

Besides, if she was a Sagittarius like Kise had said she was, they were hardly compatible. Hitomi would only continue to ruin Midorima's already dreadful luck with every passing minute. If Midorima wanted to stay at the top of his game, he would have to cut ties with her immediately.

True to his word, Midorima did not speak to Hitomi for the rest of the day, nor the rest of the week. He ignored Hitomi during all of their classes, even during group work, and avoided her in the library when she attempted to speak with him. He even managed to ignore her when she threatened to destroy his collection of Oha Asa merchandise, which Midorima found to be quite a remarkable feat on his part, seeing as he practically _lived _for Oha Asa. Without it, Midorima's life was almost meaningless.

Basketball, though, was alright too.

Needless to say, the remaining weeks of the school year speed past like the fastest of bullet trains, leaving Midorima horribly unprepared for the arrival of his last day at Teikō. He had spent well over two and a half years in the same private academy, surrounded by the same groups of people. Teikō was so alarmingly small that they only needed two classes per grade level, though each class was usually over populated by students. Midorima had been in the same homeroom for almost three years now, as had Hitomi. They had sat side-by-side for two out of the three years, sharing biology projects and trading notes back and forth like drugs. Hitomi, as irritating as she was, had become a constant element in Midorima's life. He had assumed she would always be at his side in classes and hadn't put much thought into what would happen after middle school. He was, Midorima reasoned, the _only _person in the _entire class _that Hitomi couldn't chatter non-stop with. They were a magical combination of stoicism and cheerfulness, blended together to create the ultimate package of athletic professionalism. But now they were no longer speaking, no longer interacting, and no longer a "set".

Midorima supposed that it was better this way. He had never been particularly good with words and he couldn't stand nor participate in tearful goodbyes. Hitomi had only been his seat mate, after all, and she hardly counted as a friend. Midorima hadn't come to Teikō to make friends. He had come to win. And Hitomi... Well, she wasn't a winner. Hitomi was a loser, the sort of person that hung around scum like Haizaki and wouldn't have passed most of her classes if not for Midorima's help. In fact, Midorima didn't even know why he bothered with her to begin with. Perhaps it had been convenience, or perhaps it had been a mistake. Midorima was never sure. Either way, they were done for good. Once Midorima left for high school, he'd likely never see her again. And he was glad, sort of.

The only thing that was keeping him from being truly happy was the note Hitomi had left him during third period. When Midorima had gotten up to retrieve a forgotten grammar text book from the hallway, Hitomi had somehow managed to stuff a sliver of paper into his pencil case without him noticing, something he hadn't taken note of until _late _into summer vacation. His mother had insisted that he clean out his back pack and empty out his pencil case for the upcoming school year, and he had followed her instructions like the well behaved teenager he was. When Midorima opened his pencil case, he had noticed the graphite-smudged sliver right away. It was hardly the sort of thing he would store in his pencil case- which was, by definition, meant for _pencils_- so he could only assume that it had come from some outside source.

When he had unfolded the sliver of paper, Midorima had automatically recognized the handwriting, thus revealing the person responsible for this trivial note. It was the same handwriting Midorima had grown accustomed to seeing scrawled across his and Hitomi's shared classwork, which meant it was almost impossible to read and even harder to understand. Hitomi wrote haphazardly, throwing in random words from different languages and overusing each and every metaphor she was aware of. Her writing was about as understandable as the English language, which was something Midorima personally found ridiculously difficult. It was only after several minutes of studying the paper did Midorima notice that it was, in fact, in an entirely different language.

"Leave it to Hitomi," He murmured, "She always had to overcomplicate things..."

Midorima knew that it wasn't in English or Chinese, nor was it written in any other language he could successfully recognize. He had no idea what language the note was written in and he had no idea how to even _begin _to understand it. Sighing with confusion, Midorima simply decided to give up on deciphering the message. After all, it was only three sentences. _Surely it wasn't important_, He reasoned. Yawning, Midorima crumpled the paper up between two fingers and flung it into the nearest garbage can with the precision he was known for.

His mother handed him the very same slip of paper during dinner, when Midorima's father had stepped away to accept an important phone call.

"Here," His mother had said, "You probably want this."

"No I don't," Midorima had stated flatly, already trying to dispose of the paper before his mother could stop him for the second time.

"_Yes, you do. _Have you read it?" She'd asked, mint green eyebrows arching curiously.

Midorima had shaken his head. "No! Of course not. It's not even in Japanese!"

His mother had clucked her tongue dismissively, as if that was no excuse. "I'll read it, then. I took French in college."

She took the paper from him and unfolded it, smoothing it out against the tabletop until it was virtually wrinkle-free. She then cleared her throat and began to read.

"_Tu me fascines...Te me rends heureuse. Je veux être avec toi pour toujours_." Midorima's mother had said, voice smooth like silken honey.

Midorima's brows had creased, face tightening with confusion. "_What_?"

"That's French for 'You fascinate me... And when I'm around you, I'm happy. I want to be with you forever.' Doesn't that sound like a confession, Shintarō?"

Midorima had paled, already pallid complexion completely void of all color. "Oh."

_That's right… Hitomi did take French, didn't she?_

* * *

_Shūtoku High, April 4th- [And this is how we said hello II]_

Midorima gazed out of the window of his father's black sedan, silently cursing himself for forgetting his watch and losing track of time. He was almost late for his first class! This, Midorima decided, was unacceptable.

Midorima unlocked the car door and stepped outside. He then slung his schoolbag over his shoulder and stalked towards Shūtoku High with the same predatory grace he wielded on the court. Swarms of students sprinted past him in various states of disarray, all of them frantically eyeing the clock and praying that the bell wouldn't ring _just _yet. Midorima snorted at their incompetence and breezed past them, side stepping multiple club managers frantically waving flyers. Midorima knew that he would be in high demand, as soon as word got out that he was the former shooting guard of the famed _Generation of Miracles_. Anyone and everyone would be after him, begging for him to join their respective clubs. Scoffing, Midorima pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and shook his head. The only club he would even _think _of joining was the basketball club. That in itself was the only reason Midorima had come to Shūtoku in the first place.

Shūtoku's basketball team was one of the three prestigious Kings of Tokyo, standing undefeated against any and all competition. They could use someone like him, Midorima thought. Midorima was a winner, and so was the Shūtoku High Basketball Club. It was a perfect match.

Sure enough, a burly upperclassman wearing a basketball jersey passed him a flyer and clapped him on the back before Midorima could object.

"Join Shūtoku's Basketball Club! I'm sure you won't disappoint us, Shooting Guard Midorima Shintarō." He said.

Midorima blinked. He hadn't introduced himself, nor had he given out any information about his past. How did this senior know who he was?

His confusion must have shown on his face, because the next thing he knew the upperclassman was bowing his head and apologizing for the trouble.

"Oh, sorry! I must have gotten you confused with someone else. Our coach told us to look for a tall teenager with glasses and green hair, and once we found him we were instructed to recruit him. He's a real talent you know, a _miracle_. We need someone like him on our team. Let me know if you find him!" The dark haired upperclassman explained.

Midorima pushed his glass up the bridge of his nose for what felt like the fifth time in the past five minutes and cursed the idiocy of it all.

"No," He said, "You're right. I _am _Midorima Shintarō of the Generation of Miracles."

The upperclassman offered a small smile in response. "Well, I'm Ōtsubo Taisuke, third year and captain of the Shūtoku High Basketball Club. I hope you'll join us!"

Midorima scoffed. "Perhaps."

If this was all they had to offer, Midorima wasn't interested.

Ōtsubo chuckled in response. "You're _exactly _like Coach said you would be."

Midorima sighed, brows knit with annoyance directed towards Ōtsubo's words. "Thank you, but I will be going now. I have classes to attend."

He didn't wait for Ōtsubo to reply. Instead, he brushed past him, carving through the crowd like a knife through butter. Midorima didn't have the time for idle chitchat about his past. He only had time for the future, and from the looks of it, he was the only one who felt that way. His peers were perfectly content with traipsing throughout the halls without a care in the world, only concerned with petty crushes and harping on impossible dreams. Unlike them, Midorima couldn't afford to sit and wait for his future to pan out. He was a Miracle, and his future was already crystal clear. He would join the basketball club, win the Winter Cup for three consecutive years, and then head off to college, where he would likely be scouted for the NBA. And if that didn't pan out, Midorima knew he would simply graduate and head on to medical school, just like his father. Or perhaps he would do both. Midorima wasn't quite sure.

All he knew was that failure was not an option.

The bell rang only seconds later and the halls came alive, swarming with chaos. Club managers and their returning members were frantically refolding card tables and hurriedly organizing paperwork whilst first year students anxiously searched out their homerooms. Midorima, having been caught in the fray, managed to push through the crowd and located Classroom 1A- his new homeroom- in the East Wing.

Getting there, however, was an entirely different matter.

If Midorima wanted to make it to homeroom on time, he was going to have to navigate through a crowd of uniform-clad, angst-ridden teenagers, all of which were hell-bent on doing the same thing he was. Needless to say, it was going to be a challenge.

At first, Midorima tried to simply push his way through the crowd like he had earlier. This time, however, his peers refused to bend to his will. Instead, they gave him dirty looks and made it even harder for him to get through.

"Excuse me," He tried, attempting to make amends, "But I _really _need to get through. I can't be late."

"Go to hell, lettuce head," A brunette at least half Midorima's height spat, "We all have to wait."

_Lettuce head?!_

Midorima blinked at her in surprise, thoroughly thrown for a loop. _No one _had _ever _treated him in such a disrespectful manner! He was _the _Midorima Shintarō, and he deserved better! It wasn't every day that you found someone who had once been a part of a team that had won three consecutive national championships, all of whom were future NBA candidates, in your high school. The girl needed to show some respect.

The brunette moved away before he could correct her and managed to push her way through the crowd, completely bowling over the competition. Midorima's irritation only grew when he realized that she was heading directly for Class 1A… And that they would be sharing the same classroom for the foreseeable future.

_That's just my luck_, Midorima groused, _I just had to be stuck in class with her._

Eventually, the swarm of students in the hallway gradually tapered off, leaving Midorima with plenty of room to move. He stalked towards the classroom, more irritated than he'd been in a _long _while, and threw open the door. The teacher, a petite young woman with hair and eyes the color of under-ripe strawberries, was still seated at her desk, jotting down notes and chewing a piece of gum. She gestured for Midorima to take a seat next to- _big surprise _- the brunette from before. She glared at him but moved her mess of binders and notebook paper off his portion of their shared desk without complaint.

"Name?" The teacher asked, looking up from her notes.

"Midorima, Midorima Shintarō."

"Excellent," The woman murmured, "Almost everyone is here, then. Shall we start class?"

She received a laughable lack of enthusiastic replies. Everyone in the classroom- Midorima included- was less than enthused to start orientation. Midorima just _knew _it would be a six-hour lecture on following the rules, maintaining good conduct and always looking presentable. He had sat through the very same lectures during his years at Teikō and Midorima was tired of hearing other people talk. All he wanted to do was play basketball and graduate from high school. He didn't ask for much, but it seemed like what he did expect was woefully unrealistic. It seemed that Midorima's year was not off to a good start.

"Well, then..." The woman murmured, clearing her throat, "I'm Amakata Ritsu, and I'll be your homeroom teacher for the oncoming school year! I specialize in classical literature but I majored in mathematic studies, so I can assure you that you will be _well _taken care of in my classroom. My husband is Amakata Seiji, and he teaches in Classroom 1B just next door. He'll be your biology and world history teacher. And next door to him is Class 1C, which is taught by Inoue Mei, who will be teaching grammar and English language. Any questions?"

No one said a word.

Amakata Ritsu then coughed loudly, as if she was trying to fill in the space left behind by the lack of response from her students.

"How about we all introduce ourselves, then? Everyone turn to your desk partner and introduce yourselves!" Ritsu cheered, sounding disgustingly enthusiastic and fake.

Midorima scowled but obeyed her instructions, not wanting to cause trouble on the first day.

"Yo, Lettuce Head," His desk partner greeted him, raising one arm and giving him a two fingered salute.

"Don't call me that!" Midorima barked, " It's not your place. We hardly even know one another!"

The girl's brows rose. "_Really_? You're playing that kind of game, Shintarō? How unpleasant."

Midorima glared at her. "Don't address me by my first name without my permission, especially when you haven't even bothered to give me your own!"

The girl snorted. "Wow, you must have _some _short-term memory. You'd think you'd remember me after all the time we spent together, but I guess not. You really are a prick, you know that?"

Midorima's mouth dropped open. _Never _had he _ever _been treated in such a callous manner! Where was this girl's respect? He could ignore her behavior the first time, but a second? Inexcusable.

"How am I supposed to know who you are?" Midorima hissed, "If I've forgotten you, you must have been _dreadfully _boring."

He's probably wrong, but Midorima would never admit it. In his mind, he was nearly always right. Only Akashi was smarter and more talented than he was. This girl had _nothing _on him.

"Tch. Hardly. I'm Kanbara Hitomi, you dumbass lettuce head!"

The world spun.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I'm having huge writers block and the Naruto manga has been irritating me lately (Madara is an ass) so I've decided to take a brief break from Chinatsu until my writers block clears up and I can actually produce decent content. I won't muddy my stories with poor writing if I can avoid it.

I hope this first chapter was alright and nothing confused you! I plan to write better chapters after this one, but I struggle with beginnings so this one wasn't the best. I tried to showcase how much of an ass Midorima (and the majority of the GOM, too) had been just after he left his old school. He has grown a lot since then, but at the current moment he's still deluded and in dire need of a reality check. Hopefully this isn't too OOC. I tried my best.

Also, for those that didn't notice, Midorima is a Tsundere of the finest caliber. He's so terrible sometimes! it's incredible. I don't know how Takao (or Hitomi, for that matter) put up with him!

-MSM-


End file.
